82 BOOKS Have You a Little Martian in Your Home P I N the days of his early fantasies, H. G. Wells could hang his wishing cap on any of the planets and call it home. So great was his confi- dence in the powers of man that one world hardly sufficed for him. To ac- commodate the exuberance of both his fancies and his hopes, Mars and the moon were requisitioned. He was so sure of the future that he casually dis- patched one of his heroes to it in a Time Machine. This was forty years ago, when Wells, a cosmic Pangloss, was setting down his belief that this was the best of aU possible sidereal uni- verses. Of late he has begun what appears to be a new cycle of pseudo-scientific romances. We have had "The Man Who Could Work Miracles" and "Things to Come" and "The Croquet Player," and now we have "Star-Begot- ten." These new stories differ from the old. "The War of the Worlds" came out of a kind of Utopian enthusi- asm. "The Croquet Player" is born of doubt. The early stòries flew eager- ly toward barely imaginable and excit- ing distant futures. The late ones spin direful fantasies or hesitant rationaliza- tions of a threatening tomorrow. As with Shaw, a kind of failure of nerve has set in upon Wells; like Shaw, he sees about him in his old age the im- pending defeat of all he fought for in his youth and middle years. These new books are not as inventive, as rich, as the earlier ones. They are more trou- bled, more didactic. Each of them asks, . in its own way, "What shall we do to be saved?" In "Star-Begotten," Mr. Wells re- turns indirectly to one of his favoritë planets, Mars. Joseph Davis, an op- timistic roman tic historian (not unlike the early Wells, as a matter of fact), becomes obsessed with an idea dropped casually by an eminent biologist. The idea is one of those fascinating and typi- cally Wellsian ones that begin by seem- ing quite absurd and end by seeming quite convincing. The notion is simply this: that "cosmic rays," by operat- ing on chromosomes, can effect quali- tative changes in human heredity, causing sports and mutations, just as Muller of Texas has been able to ef- fect mutations in fruit flies by means of X rays. Davis begins to believe that super-intelligent beings from another planet, probably Mars, disgusted with the ineptitude and growing barbarity of us humans, are now bombarding us with these rays, Martianizing us, and thus producing new and higher mental types. (What Dr. Millikan would say to all this I shudder to think.) Davis enlists a few friends, and they start to search for these Martian minds and to envisage what the world is apt to be like when the earthly Martians really take hold and try to clear up the mess we're so proud of. 'The idea is made to yield consid- erable amusing byplay. For example, Lord Roth-beg pardon, Lord Thun- derclap-finds out about Davis's idea, changes his phobia in mid-edition, and, instead of hunting for Reds, begins a crusade against the Martians. But the tone of the book is not lightly satirical, but serious, even moral. Mr . Wells is hunting Utopia again, is less than ever sure we will attain it, but is certain that if we do attain it, it will only be by the concerted effort of his intellectual aris- E i!!F.: :. tocrats, call them Martians, samurai, Wellsians, what you will. The Mar- tians, by the way, are quite up-to-date; they are to conquer the world by en- gaging in a sort of sit-down strike, by sabotaging the entire capitalist system, though not, of course, with the usual revolutionary ends in view. Mr. Wells is not a revolutionary. But Mr. Wells isn't very sure about his Martians. Even if they exist-and after awhile you begin to feel there must be a couple in the apartment below -he is not at all confident they can win. "Our world is in liquidation. We are played out." Of that much Mr. Wells is certain. He is not certain of much more. And in order to prevent himself from falling into a perfectly natural state of terror, he is now telling himself these troubled bedtime stories, of which "Star-Begotten" is not by any means the least entertaining. As an allegory of salvation it seems to me pret- ty fuzzy, but as a symbolic description of our present cul-de-sac it has its points. I like it much better than "The Cro- w WW eel ain't got it. 1 just handle the pocket 17 agazines."